


Read My Lips

by CaitliNation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Derek, Jealous Stiles, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaitliNation/pseuds/CaitliNation
Summary: Stiles is working at a used bookstore during the summer when a hot stranger happens to stop by and Lydia butts her nose into Stiles' business like always.





	Read My Lips

Stiles’ cellphone vibrates in his jean pocket just as he pulls up to the one used book store of Beacon Hills where he works. He pulls his phone out as he hops out of his old, dinged up jeep, shutting the car door behind him. It’s from Lydia.

_Ur fav customer is here ;). Where are you?_

Stiles grins after reading the text and starts walking slightly faster, his body thrumming in anticipation. Stiles is hit with the smell of old paper dust accompanied by the familiar welcoming chime of the door opening as he walks in.

Lydia looks up as he enters and gives him a small, mischievous grin paired with an eyebrow wiggle.

“Where is he?” Stiles whispers, coming around to stand next to Erica behind the register. He shrugs off his red hoodie, not needing it in the stuffy shop. Stiles has spoken to Deaton countless times about maybe getting some window installed, or maybe just a fan to circulate the air around. No one ever listens to his suggestions.

“At the back. He’s been here for a while now. Maybe fifteen minutes? Where were you? I was afraid that he would leave before you got here,” she says, clacking her manicured nails lightly on the polished wood of the counter she’s leaning on.

“Slept through my alarm,” he explains before going back to the more important matter at hand. “What’s he wearing?”

Normal people would look at him like a madman at this question. Lydia just pops the gum in her mouth and looks up at the ceiling, as if trying to concentrate.

“Tight jeans, black Henley, and that leather jacket you always swoon over,” she lists, smiling at Stiles’ appreciative _hmm_. He cranes his neck, trying to look behind one of the shelves to catch a glimpse of the man.

“Just go back there and talk to him,” Lydia suggests with an exasperated sigh. “Maybe you could even try to get his name, seeing as you’ve been mooning after him for over a month now.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles snorts. He’s pined after a lot of people throughout his life. It was Lydia for the better part of his adolescent years, and then he moved on to Danny after realizing that he played for both teams. The brief, awkward crush on Jackson soon followed that he’s never told anyone about. He’s taking that secret to the grave. Then, his first year of college left him with a deluge of empty infatuations that all led to nothing. Maybe because he had never _told_ any of them about how he felt. Well, except Lydia. And that hadn’t turned out well at all. Eventually he had had to give up, and now they’ve become good friends. That’s not to say that Stiles hasn’t had flings and one night stands. He’s a college student after all. But, those people just haven’t meant all that much to him.

Back to the point, he isn’t good with actually confronting the people he likes, and as a result, his crushes fail to surpass anything other than that.

Why break that streak now?

“You’re going back to college in a month. What if he isn’t here next summer? What if you never see him again?”

The thought of not seeing the mysterious, handsome man ever again after the summer ends makes Stiles feel cold and numb inside, his smile from early dissipating. But this isn’t new to him. He’s a master at crushes, as is showed by his track record. He’ll probably move on from this one just as easily.

He makes himself shrug nonchalantly.

“There’s tons of hot people out in L.A., Lydia. I’ll have more opportunities. Besides, he might not even be into guys.” Which is something Stiles has kept himself from thinking about too much.

“Sure,” she replies, eyes narrowed. She perks up again as they both hears the footsteps approaching from the back of the room. Handsome Dude- the name they had coined for him weeks ago- rounds the corner and Stiles gets that familiar fluttery sensation in his gut that he always gets when he sees him.  “Find everything you were looking for?” Lydia asks brightly once Handsome Dude has placed four books on the countertop. Handsome Dude nods, staring at Lydia but sparing the time to give Stiles a small glance. This is how interactions go with Handsome Dude. Lydia is always the one to ring things up and make small talk. Stiles just stands there observing like the total creeper he is. Sometimes Handsome Dude gives him a small nod. On rare occasions, Stiles might even receive a miniscule smile. He takes what he can get.

Right now he’s just trying to look Handsome Dude up and down as inconspicuously as possible, from his dark, perfectly styled hair to his piercing who-the-fuck-knows-what-color eyes and then down, down where his shirt is just tight enough that the faint trace of abs is discernable. The five o’clock shadow Handsome Dude sports is extra credit.

Stiles could literally just die right now and be completely happy, honestly.  And then, of course Lydia has to completely shatter his happiness.

“A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams,” she comments thoughtfully, but Stiles can hear the wicked lilt in her voice. “Did you know he was gay?” she adds innocently, raising an eyebrow in question and staring at Handsome Dude.

Stiles sputters in disbelief because this cannot be happening. Handsome Dude gives Stiles a curious glance at the sound the boy emits before focusing back on Lydia.

“Yes,” he says in that low, smooth voice Stiles has committed to memory from the moment he first heard it.

“So, I guess you’re not opposed to his sexual preferences if you like his works,” Lydia says, giving Stiles a side eye. And Stiles… Stiles knows his face is flushed scarlet from embarrassment and uncomfortableness at the situation Lydia has forced him into.

“No, I’m not.” Handsome Dude’s reply is terse once again. This is actually the most Stiles has ever heard him speak, which is saying something. He usually doesn’t say more than one word before walking out of the bookstore.

“Is that because you’re one of those people who just doesn’t care about what anyone else does as long as it doesn’t affect you or is it because you… can relate to him?”

Handsome Dude glances at Stiles with an expression that seems to say, _Am I being pranked or is this really happening?_

Stiles can’t help the snort that comes out, can’t help the swoop in his gut when Handsome Dude smirks back at him before answering Lydia.

“Both,” he says just as deadpan as he’s said everything else, but the small smile is still on his face.

“So you’re gay, then?” Lydia asks, finally going with the straightforward method. Handsome Dude looks slightly taken aback. Stiles feels for him. He’d been interrogated by Lydia more times than he can count. It can be downright terrifying. Stiles is surprised Handsome Dude had been holding up so well until this point.

“Uh. Bi. Bisexual, actually,” Handsome dude says, an intense look of concentration on his face as if he’s wondering how his sexuality came up in conversation at a used bookstore. Stiles had decided long ago that Lydia has magical powers and was able to leech information out of anyone no matter the circumstances.

“Good to know,” Lydia says with a triumphant grin. “Have a nice day.”

Handsome Dude leaves, looking slightly shell-shocked.

“Lydia,” Stiles starts. He doesn’t know whether he wants to yell at her or thank her profusely. “I can’t believe you just-”

“Just hush and bask in the moment. Handsome Dude is bi, so that means you have a chance. Don’t blow it. I’m going to get us lunch.” With that, she leaves in pursuit of the deli across the street.

Stiles sighs, but grins widely in the empty bookstore.

 

 

 

 

 

“What do you mean you can’t come in today? Lydia, do _not_ leave me here all day by myself!” Stiles hisses into his phone. There are two costumers in the store right now who are eyeing him warily as he experiences a mental breakdown.

“I have the _flu_ , Stiles. It’s not like I’m playing hooky. I’m sorry, but I’ll probably be out all week.” She actually does sound sorry, which has Stiles pausing mid-tirade. He knows she doesn’t want to be sick. He doesn’t want her to be sick. Neither of them can help it. He sighs.

“I hope you feel better,” he says morosely before hanging up.

The day doesn’t go terribly. It’s just… really boring when he has no one to talk to or joke around with. He has to close the shop for the fifteen minutes it takes for him to go to the deli and wait for them to make his sandwich. When Stiles rushes back, he’s astonished to see Handsome Dude standing at the entrance of the bookstore, glaring at the closed sign. Handsome Dude turns around, as if begrudgingly about to leave, when Stiles take those final few steps.

“Hey!” he greets, maybe a touch too enthusiastically. As he said before, it’s been a boring day, okay? He’s finally getting some excitement. And he _is_ excited about Handsome Dude coming by, except he suddenly remembers that Lydia isn’t here to be his buffer in the conversation department. He’s already cringing just thinking about the awkwardness that lies ahead of them.

Handsome Dude points to the sign in question. “You’re closed?” he asks.

“Uh, no. Sorry, I had to go get lunch and Lydia- the girl from the other day with um… all the questions has the flu so I…” Stiles trails off, knowing that Handsome Dude probably doesn’t care about his explanation. “Anyways. We’re open.”

Stiles take the keys out of his pocket and opens the door with one of them, waving Handsome Dude through first with a grand gesture that makes him feel ridiculous. Handsome Dude looks slightly amused as he walks inside.

Stiles flicks on the lights and waves to the shelves.

“Go nuts.”

He walks behind the counter and takes out his sandwich, digging in as Handsome Dude gets lost in the see of old paper and ink. He’s downright ravenous at the moment, having skipped breakfast because he had overslept _again_. He should probably start going to sleep earlier too, but its _summer_. You’re supposed to stay up until the sunrise and sleep until the sunset. At least he goes to bed now at only three in the morning. That’s respectable, right?

Stiles gets about a fourth of the way through his lunch when Handsome Dude comes into view. Stiles hastily chews his way through the bite he’s just taken, knowing his cheeks are bulging out like a chipmunk’s. He swallows hastily, grimacing before taking a swig of the Sprite he also bought and walking out from behind the register.

“Need help?” Stiles asks somewhat bemused, because Handsome Dude is empty-handed and he’s never left the bookstore empty-handed before.

“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for Great Expectations by-”

“Charles Dickens. Yeah, I know,” Stiles interrupts, smiling. “It might be on one of the top shelves. I’ll go get the step ladder,” he says before going behind the counter and picking it up. It’s bulky and a little heavy, so he’s forced to hobble behind Handsome Dude.

He doesn’t consider himself graceful as it is, and now he’s bumping into everything, swearing as he trips over a stack of books lying on the ground. Stiles would’ve probably ended up crashing onto the ground, but Handsome Dude holds out one arm, grabbing Stiles by the elbow just in time.

“Uh, thanks,” Stiles splutters, desperately wishing he could go back in time to this morning and choose to wear a short sleeved shirt. He wants to know what Handsome Dudes’ hands feel like. Are they soft or callused? Warm or cool?

Stiles shakes the thoughts away, stopping when they reach the section of the store where the authors are labeled under the letter D. There are shelves of books that stretch to the ceiling. Deaton isn’t the most organized store owner, hence the books piled on the floor and the books customers can’t even reach.

Stiles skims the shelves, frowning when he can’t find the book after a good three minutes of searching. He doesn’t want to disappoint Handsome Dude. Finally, he has to wave the red flag.

“I don’t think we have it,” Stiles says sadly as he steps down the small ladder. “I’m sorry.”

“Its fine,” Handsome Dude replies, but he has this look of disappointment on his face that Stiles just wants to eradicate, which is probably why he makes such a ridiculous offer.

“I uh, I happen to have the book. I could loan it to you if you really want it that badly.”

Handsome Dude stares at him. Stiles keeps talking.

“The book’s at my house, though. I could bring it in and you can come and get it the next time you come by,” Stiles suggest with a shrug, trying to act like his heart isn’t beating out of his chest. “Or um, if you wanna take the trip to follow me home, you could get it today. You might have to wait a bit, but we close early on Sundays so it’s only another two hours.”

In all actuality, the store doesn’t close for another four hours, but almost no one comes by after mid-afternoon. Stiles can close early and Deaton will be none the wiser.

He’s already imagining what it’ll be like having Handsome Dude in his house when he realizes the man still hasn’t given him an answer. Coming back down to reality, he bites his lip and raises his eyebrow expectantly.

Handsome Dude is still staring at him, but now his eyes are focused a little lower, flickering between meeting Stiles’ gaze and glancing down at where Stiles is nervously biting his bottom lip.

He’s about to just sigh and tell Handsome Dude to come by and get the book another day when the other man opens his mouth to say, “What’s your name?”

“My name?” Stiles asks, surprised because the question is so out of the blue. But it makes sense that Handsome Dude would want to know his name. And Stiles wants to stop calling Handsome Dude ‘Handsome Dude.’ “My name’s Stiles,” he answers, grinning way too widely. “And yours?”

“Derek Hale,” Handsome Dude- Derek- says. Ugh, finally! No more unoriginal nickname. It had really been Lydia’s idea and Stiles had just gone with it.

“Derek,” Stiles repeats, relishing the way it feels to put a name to the face after all this time. “So, do you wanna get that book from me today or later?”

“Today,” Derek says after a pause, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“More trouble for you than me.” Stiles shrugs. “You’re the one who has to wait around here for a while. Or you could leave and come back later. I’m closing at three so you can come by then.”

“I think I’ll stay a while, if you don’t mind me treating the store as a library while I wait,” Derek says, smirking. Stiles decides right then that he loves the that joking, little grin.

“Yeah, uh. Go ahead. I’m just gonna go back and finish my lunch. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” Derek gives a small nod and turns back to the bookshelves, seemingly picking one at random before diving in.

Stiles goes back to the front of the store to finish his sandwich.

Not many people come by during the last couple hours that the bookstore is open, and those who do come and go quickly. Stiles finds Derek sitting on the carpeted ground after he closes up, one book in his hand and about five or six laying around beside him.

“You could’ve asked for a chair,” Stiles says, leaning over Derek’s shoulder to see what he’s reading. Well, that’s what he pretends the motive is. Really, he’s using it as an excuse to get closer to Derek.

“It’s fine,” he says, standing up and picking the books up too. Derek places them back in their correct places and Stiles is frankly impressed. Even as a worker here, he still has trouble remembering where each book is supposed to go. “You ready?”

“Yup, definitely,” Stiles replies.  He tries not to stare as Derek bends down to collect the last book off the ground, failing miserably. For once, he’s fine with failing.

They leave the store, Stiles locking the front door, before he walks to his jeep.

“So, you’re gonna follow me?” he asks, leaning against his jeep.

Derek nods and walks over to his car that’s only a few parking spots away. And it’s… a really nice car.

“Wow,” Stiles says appreciatively. Derek looks up and sees where Stiles’ attention is directed. He shrugs.

“It was a graduation present that my parents got me a few years ago,” Derek says nonchalantly. That gets Stiles thinking.

“How old are you?” he asks trying to sound as innocent about the question as possible. Stiles is nineteen and Derek looks to be in about his mid-twenties, but you never know. He could be one of those people who look younger than they actually are.

“I’m twenty-six.”

Okay, so his dad probably wouldn’t be happy with that number, but Stiles doesn’t think seven years is that big of a difference. The relationship he had planned out in his head is not in jeopardy, thank God.

But, Stiles chooses not to reciprocate with the age information, because he doesn’t want it to skew Derek’s thought of him in any way.

So, he hums thoughtfully and gets in his car, waiting for Derek to do the same before he pulls out of his parking spot and heads towards home.

Stiles checks in his rearview mirror every minute or so to make sure that Derek is still behind him, but the man keeps up, and soon enough Stiles is arriving at his house.

For some inexplicable reason, he’s nervous now. He knows that his father, the Sheriff, is at work. And he’s been alone with Derek all day, but it was different in the bookstore, when anyone could walk in at any time. His house is… private. There’s slim to no chance of anyone barging in and being that alone with Derek is kind of terrifying. And exhilarating.

Stiles parks and jumps out of his car, watching as Derek soon does the same. When they reach the door, Stiles says, “Welcome to my humble abode,” before unlocking the door and waving Derek in in much the same way as he had at the bookstore earlier. Ridiculous gesturing and all.

Derek walks in after giving Stiles a small smile that kind of melts the boy’s heart just a little, and then Derek is looking around his living room and taking in the well-used sofa and family photos that Stiles had begged his father to take down or more than one occasion. There’s a family portrait with his dad, his mom, and Stiles when he was a baby that still makes Stiles feel sad every once in a while when he passes it.

There are also horrible photos from Stiles’ awkward tween stage that no one should be witness to. And Derek is walking _right towards them_.

Stiles scurries forward and steps in front of photos, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“Uh, the book is upstairs,” he says, pointing to the stairs that lead up to his and his dad’s bedrooms. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s prudent to bring an almost stranger up to his bedroom, no matter how hot Derek is, but he is not leaving Derek down here with those photos of him. So they’re both going upstairs, even if Stiles has to drag Derek by his ankles which probably wouldn’t work so well seeing at the man has at least fifty pounds of muscle on Stiles.

Thank God he doesn’t have to resort to that, though. Derek follows him up the stairs without even so much as comment.

Stiles sorely regrets not tidying up even a little bit before leaving for work. In his defense though, he hadn’t known he’d be bringing anyone over. No one accept his dad and Scott ever comes into his room anyway. It’s not dirty, really. Just kind of messy.

Discarded clothing litters the floor and his bed is unmade. The only pristine thing is his bookshelf which Stiles take pride in. His books are sacred to him.

“Sorry about the, uh, the mess,” Stiles says sheepishly, walking over to his books and pulling Great Expectations off of the shelf. He hands it to Derek who takes it with a smile.

“Thanks. When should I give it back to you?”

“Whenever. Just take good care of it, okay? My books are kind of like my babies.” Which says a lot about Stiles loaning one of them to Derek, who seems to be thinking along the same line as Stiles.

“And you trust me with it? You barely know me.” Derek probably means the question to come off jokingly. There’s a smirk on his face, but the question in his eyes is real.

So real that Stiles balks trying to find an answer to Derek’s question. He can’t say something like, _You’ve been all I can think about all summer, since the day I first saw you walk into the bookstore_. That would make him sound like the stalker creep he is.

Instead, he settles on, “I guess you just seem trustworthy,” with a shrug of his shoulders as if the comment means nothing. Derek’s eyebrows draw together, but he says nothing and suddenly everything is way too quiet.

They’re just standing there, separated by about a yard of space, and Derek keeps looking at him like Stiles is a foreign language he’s trying to decipher. Then, the man looks away and clears his throat.

“Well, thanks. Again. I should probably go now.” Derek hooks a finger over his shoulder and Stiles nods jerkily, trying to mask his disappointment. He follows Derek back down the stairs and opens the front door again. But, he can’t just let Derek leave like that, so when the man is halfway out of his house, Stiles stumbles forward and blurts, “We should do something sometime. Like, hang out?”  It shouldn’t come out as a question and Stiles want to slap himself for turning the suggestion into one. He wants to appear confident and sure of himself, but who could do that around Derek who’s basically every one of Stiles’ wet dreams come to life? So, Stiles keeps rambling on. “Scott, he’s my best friend. And I would usually be hanging out with him, but he decided to stay at college and take more some summer courses. Probably because his girlfriend, Allison, wanted to do it and they’re pretty much inseparable. But um… I’ve been pretty bored these last few weeks. And Lydia has the flu so I need some entertainment in my life, you know?”

Stiles stops talking and takes a deep, steadying breath. Derek is looking at him with a blank expression and after a good ten seconds of silence, Stiles lets out a small sigh and looks away.

“Never mind, it’s-”         

“Okay,” Derek finally answers, cutting Stiles off. The boy looks back at Derek quickly, unable to restrain the grin growing on his face.

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m always at the bookstore anyway, and my home isn’t… I just like to get out. The more I get to leave the house, the better,” Derek explains, and there’s underlying tones of bitterness buried in his voice that Stiles is just going to avoid.

Instead, he decides to gloss over… whatever that was. Stiles reaches into his pocket for his cellphone and holds it out to Derek.

“Put your number in.”

Derek types quickly and a second later, there’s a chime. Reaching into his own pocket, Derek pulls out his cell and texts something else. After handing back Stiles’ phone, he meets Stiles’ gaze with an unreadable expression.

“See you later,” Derek says before turning around and leaving. He gets into his car and is gone, leaving Stile slack-jawed and standing in the doorway. Looking down at his cell, he sees the conversation Derek had texted between them.

Stiles: _How about tonight at the diner? 6:30?_

Derek: _Sure_.

Stiles closes the door softly, that fluttery feeling in his stomach growing until he feels breathless. Did Derek just… indirectly ask him on a date?

 

 

After Stiles is done getting dressed- by that he means five shirt changes and rearranging his hair more times than he can count- Stiles comes to the conclusion that this isn’t going to be a date. Derek’s never expressed feeling anything less than platonic for Stiles. This is just a friendly outing. Their friends, right? And Stiles can handle that. But that doesn’t mean he can’t also look nice for a friend.

Stiles leaves his house at 6:15, wanting to get there at 6:25 so he’ll be at least five minutes early. Surprisingly, when he arrives at the diner- the only one in Beacon Hills, so it wasn’t hard to figure out which one Derek had meant- Derek is already there, waiting outside the entrance.

“You were so sure I would come?” Stiles asks after sidling up to Derek’s side.

“Yes,” is all Derek says, a small, cocky smile appearing on his face. Stiles snorts and shakes his head, turning and opening the door to the diner.

“Coming?” Stiles asks with a raised eyebrow. Derek wordlessly follows Stiles inside.

Stiles is familiar with the diner, having come here every Friday with his friends during high school. He knows all the waiters and waitresses. Knows the owner, Beth, has a husband who’s one of his dad’s deputies. But apparently, Stiles isn’t the only one well acquainted with the diner.

“Derek!” A pretty blond comes flouncing towards them in bright red stilettos and a tight, black dress. The girl throws her arms around Derek in a hug and Stiles stands there awkwardly, wondering if maybe Derek just brought Stiles along as a pity third wheel. Maybe Derek is dating the gorgeous blond. Stiles is thinking up excuses to leave in his head as they pull apart. He can’t sit through a dinner of Derek and the girl exchanging flirty glances and kisses.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something- anything- that’ll let him bow out gracefully when Derek turns to look at him.

“This is Erica,” Derek says, introducing the blond. “She works here.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows in disbelief, and Erica laughs.

“Yeah, I know. Not really dressed the part, but the waitress uniforms here are _so_ boring. Plus I get extra types,” she says with a wicked smile. Stiles decides her and Lydia would make a lethal pair if they ever got together. 

“I’m Stiles,” he says, just managing to rein in the overwhelming jealousy he feels. Hot Blond Girl seems friendly enough, but what if there had been something between her and Derek before Stiles had ever come into the picture. How would he be able to compete with _that_?

“And you’re _adorable._ Isn’t he, Derek?” Erica comments, taking a step closer to Stiles. They’re the same height with her being in six-inch shoes, but her huge presence makes her feel larger.

Derek mumbles something under his breath that Stiles isn’t able to catch.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stiles,” Erica says with a blinding smile framed by red lipstick.

“We should go take a seat at one of the tables,” Derek says, looking a little frantic. Stiles has seen Derek ruffled only once, with Lydia earlier in the week and silently commends Erica’s ability to also shake the seemingly unshakable.

“I’ll lead you to a table,” Erica says, turning on her heals and walking further into the diner. Stiles hears Derek let out a heavy sigh, but the man follows Erica.

They arrive at a booth in one of the secluded corners, and Erica leans into Derek and whispers something, pulling away with what looks like a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. Derek stiffens and… are the tips of his ears _really_ red or is Stiles just imagining that in the dim lighting?

Erica gives Stiles one last mischievous smile before turning and walking away.

Derek sits tensely on one side of the table and Stiles takes the other one gingerly.

“That was… interesting,” he observes, staring at the menu but stealing glances Derek’s way.

“Sorry about that. Erica can be a little much.”

“I liked her,” Stiles replies automatically, overcompensating for his less than joyful thoughts about her. Derek’s gaze sharpens on Stiles, his expression morphing into something unreadable once again.

“Huh,” is all the man says before focusing back on his menu. They sit in silence for a while, both of them perusing the menu thoroughly, even though Stiles already knows what he’s going to order. He’s been getting the same thing for years.

A waitress comes by smiling breezily and completely unaware of the slightly awkward atmosphere. She takes their drink order, paying extra attention to Derek in particular.

“Any appetizers?” the waitress asks, staring at Derek pointedly while twirling a lock of dark brown hair around with one finger.

Derek looks over at Stiles in question.

“Curly fries?” Stiles asks, trying to ignore the way the waitress is leaning into Derek’s space.

“Sure,” Derek says. The waitress writes it down and brushes Derek’s shoulder with her hand before flouncing away.

Stiles tries not to glare at her and fails. He isn’t that remorseful about it, really.

“So,” Stiles says, clearing his throat as he turns back to Derek. He isn’t going to let Desperate Waitress ruin this night for him. But, what he is going to do is stop with the bad nicknames. It’s kind of a problem.

“You’re a book lover, obviously. You’ve bought more books since I’ve started working at the bookstore than I can count. You can’t possibly be able to read _all_ of them. Hoarding in case of the apocalypse or something?” Stiles asks curiously.

Derek’s eyebrows furrow together before evening out, like he’s processing the question.

“I actually do read all of them. I have a lot of free time on my hands.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, leaning forward.

“Well, um. My parents died a little over a year ago. They had a large trust fund that they left for me and my sisters. Honestly, I could probably go a couple decades without working if I wanted to, but I’m planning on finding a job soon. Right now I just… use my time to read.”

Derek twirls a straw wrapper between his fingers as Stiles tries to come up with a response to that piece of information.

“Wow. That’s… sorry. My mom died when I was younger. I know how much losing a parent sucks.”

“The woman from the picture,” Derek says, looking up. “You look a lot like her. The eyes and...” The man trails off and ducks his head down like he’s said something he shouldn’t have. “Anyway. Yeah, the books are for… escapism, I guess.”

“From your parents’ deaths?” Stiles asks softly. Derek inclines his head.

“In part, yeah,” the man replies. Stiles want’s to ask what that means, but Desperate Waitress- just for tonight he’s using cheesy nicknames- arrives with their drinks.

“Appetizers should be out soon,” she says with a slimy smile, leaning over a little too much to place Derek’s drink in front of him. Stiles notices that Desperate Waitress looks like she’s wearing twice the amount of eye makeup and lip gloss than before. Stiles rolls his eyes heavily when she leaves.

Derek’s looking at him in confusion and Stiles just shakes his head. He has no right to be jealous, not really. They aren’t together right now. This isn’t a date. Derek can be targeted by girls and Stiles can’t do anything about it. It isn’t his place, might never be.

The thought makes puts him in a morose mood that Derek seems to pick up on. The man takes a few sips from his glass of water but says nothing.

After a couple of minutes, the curly fries arrive and Stiles crows in delight, sadness quickly forgotten in favor of eating food. He doesn’t even spare Desperate Waitress a glance.

“So, curly fries are your thing?” Derek asks with a small smile after Stiles has stuffed his mouth full of fried potato-y goodness. The fries are still scorching hot, but the pain mixes with pleasure and Stiles can’t bring himself to care.

“Aren’t they everyone’s?” Stiles asks, mouth still full.

Derek looks at the basket of fries and picks one up experimentally. He takes a bite and shrugs.

“They’re okay. But I tend to stay away from deep fried food.”

Stiles jaw drops, which probably doesn’t look too pleasant with all of the food in his mouth. Quickly, he chews some more and swallows.

“You’re joking, right?”

Derek laughs at the judgmental tone in Stiles’ voice.

“I like to keep a healthy diet,” he says, shrugging. He seems amused by Stiles’ indignation.

“Oh no. You’re one of those health activists, aren’t you?” Stiles exclaims with horror. Derek raises one of his hands.

“Yeah, guilty,” he confesses, grinning.

“I should’ve known.” Stiles stares down remorsefully.

“What do you mean?”

Stiles waves in Derek’s general direction. “You know! You’re all… muscle and abs,” he explains, slightly mortified after the words are out. He doesn’t want Derek to think he’s _noticed_ or anything.

Interrupting Stiles’ embarrassment, Desperate Waitress comes back, pad and pencil in hand.

“Ready to order?” she asks Derek.

Derek smiles at Stiles as he orders an entirely too healthy salad with low fat Caesar dressing. Stiles wants to bang his head on the table repeatedly, honestly. Who goes to a grease filled diner and orders a _salad_? Where’s the fun in that?

“What about you?” Desperate Waitress asks Stiles disinterestedly.

“The burger with extra bacon and curly fries on the side,” Stiles orders, grinning at Derek as he does.

Desperate Waitress leaves and Derek leans over the table.

“Let me get this straight. You ordered curly fries as an appetizer when you were already going to get them with your meal?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yup.”

“Unbelievable.”

While waiting for their food, Stiles learns that Derek has two sisters who live New York. Laura is older than him and Cora is Stiles’ age.

“Why aren’t you living with them? Why are you in Beacon Hills?” Stiles had asked.

“My ex. I mean, I was born here, but this is her hometown too, and she wanted to stay here. I was… head over heels for her, you know? I did anything she wanted me to. My sisters wanted me to go to New York with them but…”

Stiles had switched to safer topics after that. No more ex talk.

They went back to lighthearted banter, and then they’re food arrived. Derek made a few comments over Stiles’ food choice, but winded up stealing a few fries in between bites of salad.

All in all, it was a really good dinner. Until the check came.

Stiles reaches for it first, but Derek intercepts him, placing his hand on top of Stiles’. It’s warm and neither rough or soft, more in between. Stiles looks up, meeting Derek’s eyes. Their hands are still touching.

“I’m paying, Stiles. After all, I’m the one who asked you out tonight.”

“If I remember correctly, the text was sent from _my_ phone asking _you_ about going out tonight. Therefore, I’m obligated to pay.” Stiles smirks.

Derek narrows his eyes. “Fine, but next time, I’m paying.”

Stiles tries not to laugh gleefully at the comment of ‘next time’ and take the check triumphantly. His smile soon disappears when he sees the numbers hurriedly scrawled at the bottom of the receipt accompanied with a _call me_. Scowling, Stiles hands the receipt over to Derek.

“Looks like someone’s interested in you,” he says petulantly.

Derek takes the piece of paper with a frown.

“Why would she give me her number?”

“Oh, you’re kidding me, right? Desperate Waitress has been throwing herself at you all night!” Stiles says, placing his hands flat on the table.

The corners of Derek’s lips turn up.

“Desperate Waitress?”

Stiles waves the question away. “Lydia started me on this thing with bad nicknames. Erica was Hot Blond Girl for like two seconds.”

Derek nods slowly.

“Hmm. And what was mine?”

“What?” Stiles splutters.

“Well, you knew Erica for ‘two seconds’ and already had a nickname for her. I’ve been coming in the bookstore for a while now. You should’ve had a nickname for me too, right?”

“Uh. It was… Bookworm. Because you were always buying books, you know?” Stiles answers, laughing and looking away. “How much was the dinner?” he asks, changing the conversation and taking the receipt back. He puts the money on top of the receipt and an extra few dollars for the tip that he doesn’t really think Desperate Waitress deserves.

“Are you gonna take the number?” Stiles asks, trying to hide a grimace.

Derek stares at Stiles for a moment before shaking his head and standing up. “She’s not really my type.”

Stiles grins and stands up too. They walk out of the diner together and then Derek follows Stiles to his car.

“So, I’ll see you at the bookstore tomorrow?” Stiles asks, placing one hand on the door to his jeep. Derek nods.

“And maybe next time we hang out, you can tell me what my _real_ nickname was.” With one last pointed look and a raised eyebrow, Derek turns and walks to his own car.

Stiles smiles as he gets into his jeep, thinking that for the second time that night, Derek had spoken about a next time.

 

 

 

 

After that, Derek comes by the bookstore more often and stays longer than he ever has before. Three or four times a week turns into seven and twenty or thirty minutes turns into listless hours.

There are some days where all they do is talk to one another. There are other days where both of them are lost in their own worlds, Derek reading and Stiles getting lost in endless Google searches.

Stiles loves every minute of it.

And then one day, Derek just… doesn’t come by. It only took a week for Derek to integrate himself fully into Stiles life. So fully that Stiles is completely thrown when the day comes that Derek _doesn’t_ come into the bookstore.

Around closing time- it’s eight on weekdays- Stiles decides to text him.

 _Hey,_ is what he settles on after about ten minutes of deliberation. He doesn’t receive a reply for another fifteen minutes.

_Hey. Sorry I didn’t come in. Today was busy._

Stiles remembers Derek saying he didn’t have a job and wonders what the man could be busy doing.

 _It’s fine. Tomorrow?_   He presses the send button, biting his bottom lip nervously.

_Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to do something tonight._

_Sure!_ Stiles types back quickly. He regrets adding the exclamation point, not wanting to sound too eager.

 _You know the bar downtown? Night Howler?_ Derek texts. Stiles frowns slightly.

_Yeah, but I’m not 21. Sry. I don’t think I’ve told you how old I am yet.19, for the record._

There’s a pause for about five minutes in which Stiles has an internal mental freak out. What if Stiles is too young for Derek? What if Derek doesn’t want to see him anymore? Eventually, there’s a response.

 _I have a friend who’s the owner. It’s fine_.

Stiles relaxes, letting out a breath. So maybe Derek doesn’t care?

 _Okay_ , he texts. Derek responds a minute later.

_There’s usually not a lot of places to park downtown at night. It’ll be easier for me to just pick you up. Is 9:30 okay?_

_Yes_.

 

 

 

When Stiles opens his front door and sees Derek standing there in that God forsaken leather jacket, it takes everything in Stiles’ body not to breathe out a wanton _holy shit_. It’s just… Stiles has had _fantasies_ about doing dirty things to Derek while he wears that jacket, and Derek hasn’t worn it in a while.

It’s just not fair for the man to blindside him like this. But Derek also looks kind of blindsided right now, too.

Stiles can’t ascertain the appraising stare Derek is giving. Doesn’t know if it’s an appreciating look or a judgmental one. Either way, Stiles feels his face get hot. Glancing away, the boy runs a hand through what had been his carefully styled hair.

“Ready to go?”

He closes his front door behind him and walks past Derek, not waiting for an answer. Still, he thinks he might hear Derek reply with a, “Definitely,” before following Stiles to the Camaro.

After Derek puts the car in drive, a thick silence hangs between them like a canopy. It’s not uncomfortable exactly, but Stiles has never been one for silence.

“May I?” he asks, raising one eyebrow as his fingers hover over the radio controls. Derek gives a slight nod and Stiles smiles, picking his favorite station and crowing in delight as a Taylor Swift song reaches his ears.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Derek groans. Stiles makes an affronted sound.

“What’s wrong with Taylor Swift?” he asks, head bopping to the poppy tune. Derek gives a mock eye roll but doesn’t answer. Only about thirty seconds later, Stiles looks over and catches Derek mouthing some of the lyrics begrudgingly. Turning towards the window, he lets out a secret, maniacal grin.

They end up having to park about two blocks away from the bar, and once they approach the entrance, Stiles sees why.

Night Howler isn’t just a place for the townies to hang out.  The youth from other, bigger towns than Beacon Hills congregate here too.  Because of that, there are people basically spilling out of the bar.

“Wow,” Stiles breaths out. “I can’t wait until I’m twenty-one. I could be doing this every night,” he says in awe, observing the drunk, jolly crowd.

Derek raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.

“Trust me, the party scene… the drinking all the time, it gets old after a while,” he says, eyeing the people and looking a little bored. Stiles frowns.

“This doesn’t seem like you’re type of scene,” he says as they reach the entrance, having to higher his voice to be heard above the other roaring voices. “Why did you ask me to come here with you?”

Derek shrugs and looks away. “Seems like the kind of place you’d like.”

Before Stiles can answer, a man walks up to Derek and claps him on the back, grinning widely. Derek turns, and his face opens up with a smile of its own. The look that Derek gives the man is full of camaraderie and familiarity. At least, Stiles hopes its camaraderie. It could easily be something else. The man isn’t bad looking in the slightest. Come to think of it, Erica wasn’t bad looking either. Stiles thinks that maybe Derek has this thing about not associating himself with anyone less attractive than he is. Stiles is wonders how he made the cut.

“This is Boyd,” Derek introduces him, after they’ve bro-hugged it out. “He’s the owner of this bar.” Stiles nods to the man with a small smile.

“I’m Stiles,” he greets.

“I know,” Boyd says, sharing a look with Derek. “Derek’s been talking my ear off about you for almost a month now.”

“I-” the other man starts, but Boyd cuts him off, turning to Stiles.

“I’m entrusting Derek with the task of making sure you don’t get completely plastered tonight because after all, you _are_ underage in my bar. Don’t make me regret it.” He says the last part to Derek with a stern voice, but the joking sparkle in his eyes undermines it.

Derek nods good-naturedly and takes Stiles’ hand, pulling him along as they worm their way to the bar. All the stools are taken, which isn’t a surprise, so they stay standing and Derek waves to get the bartender’s attention.

“What do you want?” he asks Stiles, turning his head to look at him. Stiles’ mind goes blank. He had thought about what it would be like to be twenty-one, but the process of ordering drinks at bars had never really crossed his mind. He presses his lips together after a few moments and looks back at Derek.

“Piña Colada?” he asks more than says. Stiles wishes he didn’t feel like such a novice, wishes he could’ve thought to order something tougher sounding like whiskey or something. But, he is a novice, and whiskey is disgusting.

Derek’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t outright laugh which Stiles appreciates.

“Two Piña Coladas, please,” Derek orders once the bartender reaches them. Stiles grins widely.

“So,” he says, turning and surveying the crowd. The night bar has some club aspects mixed into it. There’s heavy, thumping music blasting from seemingly nowhere, and a mass of gyrating bodies moving rhythmically. “This is pretty awesome,” he observes. “Boyd’s also pretty awesome for letting you bring me here.”

“He’s my best friend,” Derek says with a shrug. “He also owes me for getting him and Erica together.”

“Erica? The blond from yesterday? They’re together?” Stiles asks, trying to reign in his relief. So, Stiles wouldn’t have to compete with Erica _or_ Boyd.

Derek seems to mistake Stiles rapid-fire questioning for something else. His smile tightens and he stands up straighter.

“Yeah, sorry. She’s taken. But even if she wasn’t, I would’ve advised you against going after her. I mean, yeah she’s beautiful, but it’s a lethal kind of beautiful. I think Boyd might be the only one on the planet who’s able to keep her tamed, you know?” Derek chuckles, but the laugh seems to come out harder than it should.

Stiles inclines his head and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“It wasn’t- I didn’t... feel anything like that for her. If that’s what you’re implying. She’s just… a really cool girl, you know?”

Derek hums noncommittally and after their drinks arrive, he gives a small nod to Stiles, the smile on his face seeming a little more genuine than it had been before.

Stiles gets about halfway through his drink before one of his favorite songs comes on. He nods his head to the beat excitedly.

“Wanna dance?” he shouts over the music. Derek seems to think about it before giving a slight shake of his head.

“I can’t really dance,” he explains. Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he jokes and chugs the rest of his drink, holding out a hand for Derek to take. After a moment, Derek places his own hand on top of his with a sigh. Stiles grins before turning and leading him to the dance floor.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing,” Derek complains, standing and looking uncomfortable as Stiles starts moving to the beat. With a playful eye roll, Stiles takes both of Derek’s hands and starts swinging them so that they’re moving together.

“You need to loosen up,” Stiles advices, moving in closer. “You’re so stiff.”

Derek grumbles, but the rigidness in his shoulders dissipates some.

“Try moving you’re hips some,” Stiles orders, demonstrating a little bit for Derek’s benefit. “Just try to copy me.” When Stiles glances up, Derek looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Derek?”

“Sorry,” the man mumbles before following the movements too.

After a couple of minutes, Derek is looking more comfortable, even smiling a little.

“Let’s try something a little different,” Stiles suggests, turning around so that his back is pressed up against Derek’s front. Derek goes tense again.

“ _Relax_ ,” Stiles says. He brings up Derek’s hands so that they lie on his own waist. “This is supposed to be fun. Dancing is fun.”

“Fun,” Derek repeats in a strangled voice, sounding like he’s being tortured. Stiles turns to look up at him.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re really that uncomfortable.” He knows that they’re talking about the dancing, but it feels like a completely different topic for some reason.

“No, I’m good,” Derek replies, tone more serious than the situation really calls for. Like he knows this conversation isn’t really about dancing either.

“Okay.”

He turns back around, swaying his body to the music and feels as Derek does the same. The hands on his waist come up slowly after a few minutes, until Derek’s arms are completely wrapped around Stiles’ torso. Stiles leans into it, grinning. Teaching Derek how to dance hadn’t started as a seduction plan, but it’s suddenly becoming one. He isn’t complaining at all.

The thumping, heavy song morphs into a slower, sultry one. Their movements slow down some and Stiles tilts his head back, breath halting when Derek’s lips skim his neck.

He isn’t sure if the move is intentional or not at first, but Derek doesn’t pull away. The faint brush of his mouth travels up and down Stiles’ neck. Derek’s arms tighten around him.

They go on like that as one song transcends into another and another. It’s like they’re hanging on the precipice of a cliff, and they’re so close to falling off of it, but something’s holding them back.

Eventually, Derek pulls away and Stiles can’t help the little sound of protest that’s thankfully swallowed up by the background noise. Stiles wants to groan in frustration.

They had been so close to… something. Why had Derek pulled away? What had Stiles done wrong? Maybe… maybe _he_ should just make the first move if he really wants something to happen. And like every other situation Stiles has found himself in, he acts before fully thinking things through. Stiles turns around, and before he can stop himself, grabs the front of Derek’s shirt and pulls him close. Their noses touch, and then Stiles tilts his head and moves even closer and it’s their lips that touch this time.

Derek seems to freeze for about a second before responding wholeheartedly. The man’s mouth opens up a his arms close around Stiles again, as if he’s trying to hold him their forever, hold them  both in this moment where nothing exists except for them and where they’re connected.

Stiles opens his own mouth to reciprocate, feeling like he’s opening up everything to Derek. He’s never felt this vulnerable or this exhilarated.

They’re both breathing hard when they finally pull away from each other, and Stiles knows his face is probably bright red, whether it be from embarrassment at doing what he just did or just passion from the heat of the moment. Maybe a bit of both.

Derek brings up a thumb to trace Stiles’ bottom lip, his hand warm on Stiles’ already flushed skin.

“We should talk about this,” Derek says, which is about the last thing Stiles had expected him to say. Don’t people usually have the “we need to talk” convo after being in _one_ relationship? God, all they had was one kiss.

“Derek-” Stiles starts, confused, but the man cuts him off.

“There are some things that… God, Stiles. We barely know each other. Not really. And, I haven’t been completely honest with you about some things.”

“Derek, it was just a kiss. One kiss. We don’t need to have any scary revealing of secrets right now,” Stiles says warily, pulling away. Derek reaches for his forearm, his grip tight before it goes lax and he drops his hand. The man gives a small nod.

“Okay, but tomorrow I have to explain some things.”

“Okay, tomorrow then. But let’s just have fun tonight,” Stiles says as he begins to move his body to the rhythm of the music once again. The dancing resumes but there’s less touching than before and Stiles thinks that Derek can tell that he’s not really into it all that much anymore. Eventually Derek takes Stiles by the arm and leads him off of the dance floor.

“I’m sorry. I feel like I ruined the night,” Derek says after they reach a corner of the bar that is somewhat quieter than the rest of it.

Stiles wants to reassure Derek and tell him that he’s wrong, that the night isn’t ruined. But it kind of is. Instead of thinking about how great that kiss had been, Stile is now worried about- and ruminating on-whatever secrets that Derek will tell him tomorrow.

All he can muster up for Derek is a shrug which he immediately regrets when he meets Derek’s shattered gaze.

“I really like you, Stiles. I just want to do this the right way and be truthful about everything before jumping into this, okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, feeling confused but slightly mollified. At least now he knows how Derek feels. Whatever he has to say tomorrow won’t negate that.

“Should I take you home now?”

They can both sense that the night is coming to a close for them. Stiles nods and follows closely behind Derek as they head for the exit. Stiles can feel Derek’s gaze when they’re in the car but doesn’t let himself meet it and after a few moments, Derek starts the car.

There’s no Taylor Swift in the background on the ride back. There’s just awkward silence in which Stiles looks out the passenger window and Derek focuses on the road. He doesn’t actually notice when they reach his house, having zoned out completely.

Something brushes his arm and Stiles jerks like he’s been stung. When he turns, Derek’s looking at him with a pained expression, his hand still suspended in the air.

After a moment, Stiles reaches out and takes Derek’s hand. Derek lets out a sigh as all the tension expels from his body.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks tentatively. Stiles nods.

Derek gently shakes his hand out of Stiles’ grasp, but before he feels too hurt, Derek is placing that same hand on the side of Stiles’ face. He leans over and places a small, sweet, and slightly sad kiss on Stiles’ forehead.

When Derek pulls away, Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car. He walks up to his front door and turns around to give Derek a small wave before unlocking it and going inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a while ago and there may be some typos. I got so many feels from rereading it though that I just had to post it. There may be a follow-up


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